


sword hand

by robotsdance



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, POV Alternating, adventures in formatting, the road trip south, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsdance/pseuds/robotsdance
Summary: The journey south is uneventful until the first time Brienne ties Jaime to a tree and leaves his sight.It becomes slightly more eventful after that.Slightly.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 41
Kudos: 213





	sword hand

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to slipsthrufingers and Luthien for reading this over! Any remaining mistakes are mine.

The wench is looking at him with disdain when Jaime wakes up. Or rather, she’s looking at him with more disdain than usual.

He notices what she’s looking at. Or more accurately, not looking at.

“I must have been dreaming of Cersei,” he says fondly. “Dear sweet sister.”

The wench makes a little grunt of disgust but says nothing further as she busies herself tidying up their simple camp. A pointless task. Beyond the small remnants of the fire she built the night before there is nothing they will be leaving behind, but he can’t very well be marched across Westeros in his current condition.

But by the time the wench is done kicking dirt over the ash from the fire his situation has resolved itself.

As if he could even think of such pleasures with such an ugly creature in front of him.

*

Their day passes as all of them have since she was tasked to take him back to King’s Landing.

The wench does her best not to listen to him.

Or speak to him.

Or engage with him beyond the barest of requirements to keep them moving south.

She is not successful.

On any front.

And every time she turns that particular shade of red that he assumes means she’s restraining herself from throttling him where he stands, he counts it as a victory well won.

*

She ties him to a tree that evening, her jaw clenched the whole time. She is as poor a supper companion this evening as she was the night before. At least she knows how to build a fire.

“Sleep,” she says at him after they have eaten.

“I can’t,” he moans, really selling his torment. He hasn’t even made an effort to lie down yet.

“Why,” she asks stiffly, already looking like she regrets asking.

He bemoans his long separation from Cersei. Uses words like yearn and ache and anguish as he watches her frown and then scowl. He’s just really starting to get going, waxing eloquently about how his body longs for release but alas—

“Fine,” she cuts him off, standing as she does so. “Fine.”

“Fine?” he asks in surprise. She really is enormous, towering over where he sits.

“I will go over there,” she tilts her head to the other side of the tree he’s tied to. “While you address your needs.”

Jaime grins, “Address my needs?”

She flushes with embarrassment or fury, he cannot tell which and he does not care, but she says nothing else before she storms around to the other side of the tree where he cannot see her. Not that he’s trying to. But he can’t see her.

He sits on his side of the tree in triumph. He has found a way to enjoy several peaceful moments without the miserable wench watching over him. He had no idea it would be so easy.

But he doesn’t _address his needs_. He obviously doesn’t.

Jaime is a stubborn man. He doesn’t do _that_ just because some ugly wench tells him to.

(He thinks about it though.)

*

Brienne is not a hateful person.

But as she paces behind the tree the Kingslayer is tied to, she hates him more than anyone she’s ever known.

*

The next night is much the same as the previous one. She tells him to sleep, he says he is not tired. He is, but he prefers to make sure that her watch is as unpleasant as possible. One day soon she will mess up enough for him to get a hand on one of her swords, but until then, he will make sure she is not enjoying their time together.

And she is not.

Tonight she stands and then moves around the tree he’s fixed to before he can explain why he’s not tired enough to sleep.

He doesn’t take himself in hand, but he pretends he does.

He makes a real show of it. The performance of a lifetime. Moans of pleasure and ecstasy that would put even the best whores to shame as he calls out Cersei’s name and makes a point about how enjoyable it is to picture a beautiful woman, all the while he sits there with his chained wrists crossed over his chest, relishing how much the wench must loathe him right now.

He quiets for a moment, wondering if she’ll comment. The forest is still around them.

“Are you quite finished?” she asks.

He moans at an obnoxious volume in reply.

*

Brienne knows the Kingslayer is not truly doing what he means her to think he is doing.

She’s lived amongst men long enough to know what such activities truly sound like.

She tightens her hands into fists, determined to ignore him until he grows weary of this game.

*

The third night of this little game, his cock is already starting to stir when the wench leaves his sight.

So he does. What’s the harm? She already thinks that’s what he’s doing.

He conjures up some cherished memories of Cersei and goes about it.

And if his thoughts stray to the wench sulking on the other side of the tree he’s tied to once or twice, it means nothing.

*

Tonight is different.

Something is different.

A soft gasp from the other side of the tree.

Not at all like the silence of the first time she left his sight.

Not at all like the moans of ecstasy he shouted the night before.

Brienne can only imagine what he’s doing while he makes these particular sounds.

(She imagines it rather a lot.)

*

The fourth night is much like the third.

A different patch of forest. A different tree. Same angry beast of a woman abruptly leaving his sight.

Much like the third night he does.

*

The thought of the Kingslayer doing what she knows he’s doing while he’s thinking of his sister is vile.

But the look on his face, the softness in his body when she comes back around to his side of the tree is far from off-putting.

*

The fifth night it is raining.

He tells her he’s not in the mood. She does not leave his sight.

But the sixth night he is already half-hard at the thought of her stepping out of his view. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and walks to the other side of the tree without a word.

He thinks of Cersei at first.

Soon Cersei is far from his mind.

*

He’s making the noises again.

The quiet ones.

The real ones.

The ones that make her shift where she sits, trying to focus on something else.

Anything else.

She wants to grab hold of his perfect filthy hair and yank his head back to gag him.

That’s not lustful.

She just wants him to be quiet.

She wants to make him be quiet.

(She imagines what his stupid pretty eyes would look like when he realized there was nothing he could do about it.)

She presses her thighs more tightly together.

And tries to think of anything else.

*

“Are you finished?” she asks gruffly from behind his tree.

“Yes.”

“Are you decent?”

“I’m never decent.”

He can feel her scowling and picturing the crease in her brow that comes with it is almost as satisfying as when he can see her. It takes her a moment to grind out a clarifying, “You know what I meant.”

How he lives for the simmering fury in her voice that she’s trying so hard to contain. He relishes making her wait before he answers, “I suppose.”

“Good,” she says as she returns into view and sits back down across from him without once looking at him. “Now go to sleep.”

*

Brienne does not look at him throughout her entire watch.

She is determined not to think of him at all.

He is asleep. He is quiet. This should be the most peaceful part of her day.

(It is not.)

*

By the eighth night it is just routine. After they have eaten she gets up to leave.

“I’ll think of you,” he teases. He means it as a joke, but it is not.

She doesn’t say anything as he watches her move out of his sight.

He wastes no time. He’s been thinking about this all day. All fucking day. And his cock is hard and she knows exactly what he’s doing on his side of the tree.

*

This is not what she should be feeling.

Brienne should not be feeling anything.

She has sworn to see the Kingslayer returned safely to King’s Landing.

That is her duty.

She should not be feeling anything beyond that.

Not anything at all, except disgust.

But as she waits on her side of the tree, she feels…

She feels…

Something.

It feels like when she spars with someone who desperately deserves to be beaten.

When she knows she can and will defeat them.

It’s that feeling.

But so much more.

*

In Jaime’s mind Brienne comes back around the tree while he’s right in the middle of things. She covers his mouth with one of her large hands and roughly strokes his cock with the other. She looks right at him the whole time, telling him all the reasons she loathes him until he spills all over her hand. Then she looks at her hand in disgust and adds the mess he’s made to the list of reasons she hates him before wiping her hand clean on his filthy tunic. (In reality Jaime comes hard imagining the way she would press her strong hand firmly across his chest as she does so.)

When Brienne actually comes back around to his side of the tree he grins up at her and welcomes her back.

Her jaw clenches.

*

Another long night.

Another longer day.

Brienne is determined not to think about the infuriating man in her custody.

He makes this difficult for her.

(He makes this impossible for her.)

*

Jaime teases her and she flushes and roughly adjusts the direction he’s walking.

Jaime catches himself looking forward to making camp tonight.

Jaime catches himself looking forward to it rather a lot.

*

It has been a very long day.

But Brienne is very careful.

She ties him to a tree, just as she has every evening.

She collects branches and builds a small fire.

She does not rush them through their meagre meal.

She tries not to listen to him when he speaks.

She tries not to listen to him when she stands up and walks around to the other side of the tree.

*

“I do hope you’re enjoying yourself over there,” Jaime says, wasting no time tonight as he strokes himself with his sword hand and tugs at his balls with the other. “I’m having a marvelous time over here.”

Silence as always, but it is of little concern.

*

Brienne wants…

Brienne wants to…

Brienne wants to break him.

*

Tonight he fantasizes about sparring with Brienne. Swords gleaming in the sunlight, blood thundering in his ears, and her of course. In her armour with her sword. Gods how they fight together. Better than any fuck he’s ever had. Better than any fuck he’s ever had until in his mind she pins him down and he yields and she takes him like a prize she’s just won.

*

Whatever this is that Brienne is feeling, she doesn’t know what to do with it.

It’s so destructive.

The power of it.

The intensity of it.

Brienne wants to destroy him in ways that make her ache to…

Ache to…

She doesn’t.

Her hands remain clasped together.

Nowhere near her—

She should not be feeling this.

But she is.

*

It takes her longer to come back around to his side of the tree tonight.

And when she does, she ignores him.

She ignores him and then she tells him to sleep.

*

Another long night.

Another long day.

Another tree to tie him to…

*

Tonight, in his mind she shoves him to the ground and sits on his face until she’s had her fill and he feels it is possible to drown beneath her. Then she gets off him and leaves him there shackled in such a way that he can’t even touch himself and in reality, Jaime comes as he fixates on the thought of straining for release as she leaves him lying in the dirt.

*

She tries to think of anything else.

Anything but the beautiful infuriating man tied to the other side of the tree.

Anything else.

Anything but him.

And what he is doing.

And how he looked up at her.

When she tied him to the tree and left his sight.

*

“You were remarkable,” he says, after she has come back around to his side of the tree.

“Shut up.”

He’s telling the truth.

*

“Sleep,” she says.

*

Night.

*

Then day.

*

Then dusk.

And all the pleasures it brings.

*

She thinks of sparring with him.

She thinks of sparring with him so she doesn’t think of other things.

Beating him, knocking him off his feet, holding him down.

Her hand on his pretty throat.

Their faces so close together.

As he gasps her name.

And yields.

*

She always asks if he is finished before she returns.

She never means to surprise him, to catch him off guard.

(He wishes she would.)

*

She wants to…

She wants.

All day she wants.

*

“Think of me,” he says as she stands that evening.

She scowls. Then scoffs. Then rolls her eyes.

But she doesn’t say she won’t.

Jaime does not need more to work with tonight.

He spends a considerable time thinking on this particular subject while his hand works his cock.

Tonight when Jaime comes he imagines Brienne doing the same on the other side of the tree.

*

Brienne tries not to think of him.

*

Jaime thinks of her on the other side of the tree long after she has returned to his side.

Jaime thinks of what Brienne could be doing on her side of the tree for much of the following day.

*

Brienne is not thinking about him.

Brienne is not thinking about him.

Brienne is not thinking about him at all.

*

Tonight he is hard as soon as she’s out of sight but he waits. He waits and listens for any sign she is paying attention.

“Get on with it,” Brienne huffs.

“Who says I’m not?” he fires back.

“You’re never this quiet.”

 _Fuck you,_ he thinks, but gods how pleased he is she’s been paying attention. “Been listening, have you?”

“As if I could avoid it.” Then she moans, a cruel but accurate imitation of his earliest performance. It’s meant in jest, to humiliate him.

It goes straight to his cock instead.

*

She knows what he’s doing.

All day she suffers him trying to provoke her.

This is no different.

Except for what she knows he is doing while he tries to provoke her right now.

That is different.

She shouldn’t rise to his bait.

When he speaks, she shouldn’t respond.

But she does.

Every time she does.

She can’t help herself.

*

They bicker the whole time.

*

They bicker the whole time.

And every hitched breath, every fractured moan, every word he trips over feels like a victory.

*

They bicker the whole time and gods how he comes.

*

She walks around to the other side of the tree.

After.

After he is finished.

And the sight of him.

The way he’s looking at her.

 _I did that,_ she thinks.

She wishes she didn’t think it.

But she does.

And she likes it.

She likes it very much.

*

Another long day.

*

Another impossibly long day.

*

Tonight Jaime hears nothing from his side of the tree. Just silence. He strains his ears, but there is nothing beyond the rustle of leaves in the night breeze. The river somewhere to their left. Nothing unexpected.

Then.

The sound of armour shifting.

Then nothing again.

Just silence.

Surely she isn’t…

Surely.

But Jaime thinks of nothing else. Nothing but the stubborn wench on the other side of the tree with her hand down her breeches,

Which hand, he wonders as the edge approaches and his pace increases, her sword hand?

That thought has him spilling into his own.

*

Brienne does up the laces of her breeches with shaking hands.

*

She is slow to return tonight, and when she does there is more colour in her cheeks.

He’s not imagining it.

He’s not.

*

Brienne doesn’t look at him when she returns.

But she never did before.

It is the same.

Everything is the same.

It is of no matter that she…

It is of no matter.

*

He can’t even look at her the next day.

He can’t stop looking at her the next day.

He hates her.

(He does not hate her.)

*

She can’t even look at him the next day.

She can’t stop looking at him the next day.

She hates him.

(She does not hate him.)

*

The next few days and nights pass and they do not speak of it.

*

They do not speak of it.

*

“I’ve been listening to you,” he says from his side of the tree when it is far too quiet on hers. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“As if I would, Kingsl—”

“Four nights ago!” Jaime interrupts. “Four nights ago your hideous armour made some very telling sounds.”

“I—”

“Oh gods you were!” Jaime exclaims, thrilled and suddenly more intently interested in his cock. “You actually were!”

“I…I was merely…”

“Mhmm,” he says, stroking himself a little faster. “Almost as good as when you removed your armour so as not to make any noises the night before last.”

“It had rained all afternoon,” Brienne protests, but that glorious edge is back in her voice, the same tension he feels in his whole fucking body as he teeters on the brink.

“What of today then?” Seven he’s going to come so fucking hard. “Any excuses for today? You seemed especially eager to do this tonight. Am I so irresistible?”

“No,” she grinds out.

But the stifled moan that follows feels like a yes.

*

Her septa said it would hurt when her lord husband took his rights.

That it was her duty to endure the pain of this and of childbirth.

It would hurt less if she lay still.

That is what she was told.

In her mind Brienne does not lie still.

*

Jaime is beside himself and beyond himself, but he keeps easing back just as he’s about to spill.

He squirms and strains against the rope holding him to the tree as he savours every little sound Brienne cannot conceal.

*

Brienne likes the idea of being above him.

Straddling him but not touching him.

Not letting him touch her.

Though he asks to.

Begs to.

(His wrists are bound.)

(She focuses on that as she bites back a moan and moves her fingers faster.)

(His wrists are bound.)

She imagines that she doesn’t let him touch her while she touches herself.

But he watches.

Watches her watching him.

She imagines what he would say, how he would beg to touch her, plead for her to touch him, and all the while she knows exactly what he’s doing on the other side of the tree.

She imagines him like this for quite some time, and then she lets herself focus on what would happen if she granted his requests.

And when he chokes out her name and then curses like he’s whispering a prayer to the Seven from the other side of the tree she does not need to imagine how he would sound at such a moment.

*

She holds her head high when she returns to where he sits. She takes her place across from him as if nothing of note has occurred between them. As if they both weren’t…

He aches to ask which hand she used. Which hand she used to touch herself while thinking of him.

“Sleep,” she commands.

He longs to lick her fingers clean to taste the obscene truth on her skin.

*

Brienne spends her watch mulling over what she is trying not to examine.

She was taught what was expected of her as a woman.

And she has learned about love.

From songs and stories.

And her own fragile heart.

But whatever is happening between her and the Kingslayer is not like anything she had been warned about.

She hates him. Loathes him. Despises him.

He is the Kingslayer and an oathbreaker and he does nothing but grate on her nerves.

But even now the thought of him registers as a jolt of heat that is impossible to ignore.

*

They bicker all the following day. All fucking day. About everything. Everything they can think of is a fight and they can’t stop. The tension is thick. She’s rougher than she’s ever been with him when she ties him to a tree as dusk approaches.

They don’t eat first.

She doesn’t build a fire. She just makes him watch as she unbuckles the armour from both of her arms (he will never know which hand she uses…) Then he watches her place the armour plates on the ground in front of him, just out of reach.

He’s too stunned to do anything but stare at her as she walks out of sight.

It’s an obvious play for the upper hand in their little game.

And it is an effective one.

*

Brienne leans her head against the other side of the tree she’s tied him to.

She doesn’t care that she shouldn’t.

She doesn’t care.

*

“Are you close?” he gasps.

“No,” she snarls.

 _Liar,_ Jaime thinks as he fights against his own imminent release. Gods the tension in her voice, the need, oh fuck oh fuck ah fuck—

*

Fuck.

*

“Stay,” he says as he looks up at her the following night. “Stay right where you are. Please?”

He’s hard in his breeches and she fucking knows it’s because she took off part of her armour again and put it on the ground between them because he knows what that means and all he can think of is getting to do what they’re both about to do facing each other instead of separated by—

“No.”

Jaime moans in frustration as Brienne walks out of sight.

*

She barely makes it to the other side of the tree.

Her legs are unsteady beneath her and her heart is pounding.

He…

The desperation in his voice when he asked her to stay in his sight.

Gods.

She can’t get her hand between her thighs fast enough.

*

It’s barely midday.

It’s barely midday and Jaime’s uncertain as to whether or not they’re about to kill each other or fuck each other. It’s so difficult to tell. It’s so gloriously difficult to tell.

She yanks him aside and ties him to a tree in the thick of the woods. She ties him to a tree like it’s dusk but it is not. It’s midday but he doesn’t want to say anything because he doesn’t want her to stop and they have not seen another traveler for hours and they are either about to kill each other or fuck each other and it seems she’s decided against both of those options but he will absolutely settle for what she has chosen.

She looks right at him as she ties the final knots that hold him in place, as if daring him to question why. He won’t. He knows why and she knows he knows why because he’s been hard since she shoved him against the tree and he doesn’t want to say anything that might make her stop.

It is quick. And loud.

She does not remove any of her armour.

He does not keep his voice down.

They are well past the point of denying what they are doing.

Even though she still walks around to the other side of the tree before they do it.

*

Brienne has no idea how it came to this.

*

Later that day they stand on the shore and look at a bridge.

When she chooses to lead them across it he seizes the opportunity.

He manages to get a hand on her sword.

And they fight.

*

They fight until they are found.

*

Another camp.

Another tree to be tied to.

This time Brienne is tied beside him.

*

Night has fallen.

She will not look at him.

She must somehow find a way to fulfill her oath to Lady Catelyn.

She must get him safely to King’s Landing.

She will not look at him.

If they were alone… if they were alone this is when they would…

She tries desperately not to think of what will happen tonight.

*

She is not looking at him.

But he keeps glancing over at her.

She does not hide her fear nearly as well as she thinks she does.

*

Brienne struggles and screams with everything she has when their captors come and drag her away.

Then Jaime speaks.

And she is shoved back towards the tree and tied in place and Jaime is the one dragged away.

Then Jaime screams.

*

So this is dying.

*

He must live.

*

He waits for the Stranger to claim what is left of him.

They took his sword hand.

The hand he earned his knighthood with. The hand he killed the king with. The hand he fucked his sister with. The hand he spent the last fortnight pleasuring himself with every night while Brienne did the same on the other side of the tree.

His sword hand.

He will never be himself again.

*

He must live.

*

He survives the night.

But soon he will die.

He closes his eyes.

*

He must live.

*

When Jaime wakes he is on a horse.

He is tied facing Brienne, his stump is bandaged, his severed hand is rotting where it hangs from his neck between them.

The smell makes his stomach churn, though there is nothing left inside him to vomit.

And he is still not dead.

*

She has dressed his wound and cleaned his skin and made sure he eats enough to survive.

Still, there is so little she can do for him.

And none of it will return what has been taken from him.

She knows there is no comfort she can offer that will reduce his suffering.

She reaches for him nonetheless.

*

He looks at her sword hand holding the only one he has left.

*

And then at her.

*

He does not pull away.


End file.
